


Protect the Innocent

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Sam and Dean find themselves drawn into a "hunt" for a ghost that turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect the Innocent

"Dean, I'm home!" Sammy called, voice echoing in the empty motel room. He dropped his bag on the bed and sighed. Sammy had stayed late at school to finish up a report and expected his brother to beat him home. But Dean must still be at work.

Walking back to the door, Sam opened it and peered across the road, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother. Dean had gotten a job at the huge inn across the street from the motel where they were staying. It was in the middle of a series of renovations, and Dean was cheap, untrained labor.

There was no sign of Dean, but there were only two trucks left in the parking lot. That meant they were doing the clean-up, so Dean would hopefully be back within the hour. He normally stayed until the end of the workday—more time to earn money and avoid "babysitting duty." Not that Dean would ever admit he didn't want to watch him, but Sammy knew Dean would have rather gone hunting with their dad. 

Well, the least he could do was make dinner. At twelve, Sammy wasn't a great cook, but he did make a mean macaroni and cheese.

***

Dean had to make sure to hide his glee. If Sam suspected anything, he'd never be able to ditch him tonight. He'd wait until the kid fell asleep, and then head back over and take care of the problem.

He'd been hearing some odd things on and off during the last couple weeks but Joey's story today settled the matter. The inn was haunted. This was awesome. Not that he would ever resent staying with his brother, but Dean had found it hard not be allowed to go with his dad. Now he had his very own hunt.

Opening the door to their room, Dean saw Sammy had made dinner. He called a quick greeting to his brother, went into the bathroom, and washed his hands.

When he returned, he sat down at the table. "Smells great, Sammy. Thanks."

Sammy turned and looked at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "What is it?"

"What is what?" Dean asked, striving for cool and missing by a country mile. 

Sammy placed a plate of mac and cheese in front of him and Dean clutched it like a life preserver.

"You're acting weird," Sammy said. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Dean shoveled another bite of pasta into his mouth. Damn perceptive little brothers.

Sammy sat down across from him, propped his head in a hand, and waited.

"You should eat." Dean gestured at Sammy's untouched food. 

"You should tell me what you're hiding."

For a long moment, Dean debated keeping his mouth shut. Which would work if Sammy wasn't so stubborn. The kid would probably stay up all night watching him. Dean's hands flew up. "Okay, fine." 

Sammy grinned and dug into his pasta. 

"So, I've been hearing some weird things at work."

"Like..."

"Like the inn's owner locked herself out of the house with her baby inside, and the door just finally opened by itself. Then there's stuff being moved around. You know, the usual."

"Why do you think it's actually __something__ then?" Sam asked through a mouthful of pasta.

Dean shrugged. "I really didn't until today. I was talking with this contractor, Joey, and he said last month he almost fell off a ladder and 'something stopped him.'" 

"What do you think it is?"

"This three-year-old kid died there about twenty-five years ago. I'm guessing all the renovations woke him up."

Sammy finished his food, put the plate in the sink, and clapped his hands together. "What's the plan?"

"You go to bed, I take care of ghost boy."

"Dean, I wanna go with you!"

"You can't, you have school tomorrow."

"So I'll skip a day," Sammy countered.

Dean placed his hand over his heart. "Do my ears deceive me? You're actually volunteering to miss school?"

"This is more important. You need backup."

"Nuh-huh, no way."

"Then wait for me. Tomorrow's Friday; we'll do it over the weekend."

"We can't put the job off, Sammy."

"You said it hasn't hurt anyone."

"Not yet. But what if someone gets hurt tomorrow?"

Sammy's head drooped.

"Could you live with yourself if that happened?" Dean asked gently.

Sammy shook his head.

"Me neither." Dean ruffled Sammy's hair. "Dude, don't worry; it's a kid. He's not going to do anything."

At that, Sammy perked up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Then it won't matter if I come along."

Dean recognized the mulish expression; he'd seen it on his father's face enough. And he knew he'd boxed himself into a corner. He sighed. "Fine. But you're sticking to my side, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever."

***

Sammy watched Dean pick the lock of the inn's front door. Dad had promised to teach Sammy how to do it this summer, and he couldn't wait. With enough practice, maybe he could even do it faster than Dean! 

In less than a minute, Dean swung the door open. Sammy started to go through, but Dean pulled him back by his collar.

"I go first," Dean said in a harsh whisper.

Sam nodded, following his brother into the lobby. He'd only been here a couple times since Dean started working. It looked a lot different in the dark. Much bigger, and kinda scary. 

"You okay?" Dean's soft voice cut through Sam's daze and he jumped a little.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, hoping Dean would buy it.

Dean frowned. "I can take you back to the motel and come back by myself."

Sammy shook his head vehemently. "No way. We stick together; you said. I'm your backup."

"Yeah, okay, squirt. You win." Dean cuffed him on the back of the head. "Let me know if you see or hear anything weird, okay?" He waited to see Sammy's nod, and added, "We'll check out this floor then we'll head upstairs."

They'd only gone a few steps when the hair on Sam's arms became to prickle, and he shivered. 

Dean stopped abruptly in front of him. "Does it feel cold in here?"

***

Dean slid his eyes open slowly, flinching as light hit them. He flung out a hand, hitting something, sending it spinning, and darkness returned.

"Sammy?" he croaked.

There was no answer.

Dean pushed against the hardwood floor and tried to sit up, but a stab of pain shot through his skull. He reached up to touch the back of his head and winced when his hand came away sticky. He squinted in the dark, not able to see it was blood, but knowing nonetheless.

Dean saw a fuzzy brightness off to the side and reached for the flashlight he'd pushed away moments before. Yep, it was blood. Great. Didn't matter, he had more important things to worry about. Like getting up off this floor and finding out why his little brother hadn't answered his call.

Easier said than done. Dean's every movement seemed to knock loose something in his head, shooting bursts of pain through his skull.

Holding the light in one hand, he used the other for balance as he slowly stood, tilting slightly once he was up.

Dean paused, taking a deep breath, waiting for the sensation to cease.

"Sammy?" he called, then hissed as his voice kick-started the pain again.

The dizziness and pain finally faded to a tolerable level and Dean could think again. He lifted the flashlight and shone it around the room, looking for any sign of his brother. The house looked just as empty as it had when they first entered. The only disturbance was their own footprints in the dust coating the floor. 

This was his fault. Dean had just wanted to show his dad he could handle a hunt alone, and now his brother was missing. 

Dean swung his light around, and it landed on a hunk of wood. There was blood glistening on the side—that must've been what hit him. Whatever. He needed to find Sammy, get out of here, and do some serious research. What he should've done from the start. Another lesson learned at the expense of injury. Dean felt like he should start counting his scars; that many lessons would probably add up to a freakin' college education. 

"Sammy!" he yelled into the dark. He waited, listening.

After a moment, he heard a distant thump. "Sam?"

The thump came again.

"Keep it up! Dean yelled, voice cracking with relief.

It turned into a strange game of Marco Polo, with shouts and thumps taking the place of names. 

Dean followed the noise to a door. He knocked twice. "Sammy?"

Two knocks answered.

Dean tried the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. It didn't even have a keyhole for him to pick. He studied the door. Time for the old reliable method. 

"Move back!" he warned.

Dean waited a beat, stepped back, and then kicked the door mid-level. It flung open, slamming against the wall inside. Sammy burst out of the room.

"You okay?" Dean checked his brother over.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam brushed off the roving hands. "What took you so long to find me?"

"Well excuse me for not pinpointing the frickin' thumps earlier. I haven't played Hot/Cold since you were in kindergarten."

"Didn't you hear me yelling?"

"I didn't hear shit, dude."

"That's weird; I could hear you," Sammy said. "Muffled but fine." 

"Yeah, well, at this point, all I care about is getting out of here and downing some aspirin."

Sammy instantly honed in on Dean. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. I just got knocked on the head." When Sammy's face remained pinched, Dean snapped, "Can we go now before you disappear again?"

Sammy's expression didn't ease, but he seemed to realize there was no point looking for wounds in the pitch black. "Fine," he said. "But I'm looking at your head as soon as we hit the motel."

"Oh, Sammy," Dean batted his lashes, "you know just how to woo a guy."

"Gross."

They got out of the house with no more problems—or disappearing brothers—and hurried across the street to their temporary home. Once inside, Dean hadn't walked two steps toward the bed when Sammy pulled him into the bathroom "where the light was better."

Dean rolled his eyes, but stopped when it messed with his balance. Apparently, he'd gotten a harder knock than he'd thought. 

"I don't get it," Sammy said, cleaning the blood out of Dean's cut. "You said no one else has gone missing or gotten hurt in that house. It's been the opposite." 

Dean winced as Sam pulled at a stubborn clump of blood. "We're just lucky, I guess."

"What's different? What did you do?"

"Are you telling me I pissed off the spirit of a toddler?" Dean scoffed.

"I'm thinking we missed something. Like, a three-year-old would probably be playful, not helpful."

"Dude, it's a ghost. Who knows what it can do?"

"I just think we need to dig deeper."

"All right," Dean said. "Can we finish discussing this when you aren't ripping my hair out by the roots?"

"Baby." Sammy grinned and patted Dean's head one last time. "You don't need stitches."

"Thank Christ for that. You probably woulda used a crowbar to do 'em."

Sammy giggled. He stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Dean to get cleaned up. By the time Dean was done, Sammy had changed into his pajamas and put his dirty clothes away.

"I'll be back in a few," Dean said.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need to get some air. Finish getting ready for bed and I'll be back soon. You should be able to get enough sleep where you won't be a zombie at school."

Sammy yawned. "Yeah, okay."

Dean slid out the door and walked across the lot to a picnic table in the grass. He sat down and rested his arms on his knees, letting his head drop. His body was trying to tamp down the gut reaction to Sammy being missing, even if the kid had been found unhurt relatively quickly.

He needed to do better.

*****

Sammy walked through the double doors of the public library and looked around. Dean had promised to meet him here after school—said he would skip out of work early. Together they would try and figure out who or what could be causing the disturbances at the inn. 

There was no sign of Dean. 

It's not like Sammy was worried, even though Dean would've been working in the same house where something had attacked him the night before. 

Sammy checked his watch. He'd hurried from school, but even so, Dean probably should've beat him here. He roamed the library, looking down each aisle for his brother and getting more nervous the longer he didn't see him. Sammy was just about to turn the corner on the final one when a hand landed on his shoulder. He jerked around, heart racing, only to see Dean's big-ass grin.

"What took you so long, squirt?"

Sammy scowled. "Where were you?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low so he wouldn't get in trouble.

"I reserved a microfiche reader in the back corner, and borrowed some archives from Susan." He nodded and winked at the middle-aged librarian.

She blushed and ducked her head. 

Sammy rolled his eyes. "Let's go, lover boy." 

The brothers scoured the records for the next couple of hours.

Dean finally broke the silence. "Timothy Murphy was three when he died. His nanny was changing the baby's diaper and Timothy got bored, and went to play on the landing. He broke his neck when he fell down the stairs." Scanning further, he added, "Follow-ups say the parents and the remaining sibling moved out of the house immediately after his death. They're all alive and living in town." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I haven't found anyone else who died in the house."

"Did the incidents start about six months ago?" Sammy asked after a beat.

"Yeah, why? You find something?"

"The family's nanny died six months ago."

"What?" Dean came and read over Sammy's shoulder. "She died on the other side of town. Nowhere near the house."

"But she must've lived with the guilt for the rest her life. Maybe now that she's dead, she's looking for redemption."

"So why'd she come after me?"

"Well...I got a theory about that." Sammy folded his hands into his lap and looked down at them.

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Lay it on me."

"I think she misunderstood."

"Misunderstood what?"

"You hitting me."

"I never hit you." Dean leaned forward, offended. 

"I know that," Sammy said quickly. "But when we got in the house, you thumped the back of my head. Maybe she couldn't tell the difference between a real hit and a play one and thought you were trying to hurt me."

"Stupid ghosts."

Sammy couldn't help but defend, "She just wanted to protect me."

"That's my job. She had her chance and she blew it."

"It was an accident." Sammy paused. "Do we have to get rid of her, Dean?"

"Sammy, you know we do."

"But she was helping people."

"Does this look helpful?" Dean pointed to his head wound. "She's only been dead a few months and she's already confused about what is helpful and what isn't. Can you imagine her in ten or twenty years? Who knows what she'll turn into. Better we take care of this now."

Sammy nodded sadly. He knew Dean was right, he just didn't like it. He felt kind of bad for the nanny.

*****

"Hold that light still, wouldja?"

"Oh, sorry." Sammy stabilized the flashlight with both hands.

Dean couldn't believe he brought his brother along to dig up a corpse. He'd tried to leave the pipsqueak behind, but Sammy wouldn't have it. And, if Dean was being honest, he didn't mind having Sammy close by to keep an eye on as well as having a lookout. 

They'd had quite the hike to reach the cemetery where the nanny was buried, especially while carrying a shovel and a duffle bag. Not very inconspicuous. Yet another reason to have his own car. He'd have to work harder to convince his father. 

"How much farther?" Sammy asked, interrupting Dean's rhythm.

"Do I look like I got x-ray vision?" Dean snapped. "It'll take as long as it takes."

"Fine, geez."

The shine had definitely worn off for Sam. He hadn't been thrilled doing this in the first place—damn kid felt bad for the ghost. And two hours of standing around and watching someone dig a hole isn't all that thrilling.

Dean's shovel hit wood. "Thar she blows!" he crowed at a low volume. No need to involve any good townsfolk—or police—in their operation. He finished clearing off the coffin. "Hand me the bag and turn around," Dean ordered.

"Why" Sammy asked, giving Dean the duffle.

Dean's gaze softened. "You don't need to see this, Sammy."

"I'll be okay," Sammy assured him, but Dean could hear the uncertainty. 

"Some other time, geek boy. Now move."

Sammy sighed, but did as requested. Dean cracked open the coffin, gagged at the stench, and coated the body with salt and fuel. He jumped out and lit a book of matches, tossing them in.

The fire flared up, then settled into a steady glow. 

"Can I look?" Sammy asked, still facing away.

Dean checked the corpse. The flames obscured enough details. "Sure."

Sammy moved close and leaned against Dean. 

Dean put his arm around him. "You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah. Sad is all."

"I know." Dean hugged him close. "We'll be around for a couple more weeks. I'll make sure there's no funny business going on."

"Thanks, Dean." 

The boys watched the flames slowly die away, and once it had extinguished itself, Dean pushed the dirt back into the grave. By the time he'd finished, Sammy was curled up on the ground, head pillowed on his arms.

Dean kneeled next to him and gently shook his shoulder. "Sammy. Sammy, wake up." 

Sammy knuckled his eyes and yawned. "All done?" he asked quietly. 

Giving his brother a hand up, Dean nodded. "Yeah, all done. Let's get you home, squirt." 

"Uh-huh." Sammy stumbled along next to him, not quite fully awake. "So we gonna tell Dad about this?"

This time it was Dean's turn to stumble. He caught himself and swung the duffle back onto his shoulder. He thought about how his father might react to the details of their "case." "I think maybe it should be our little secret."

"All right." Sammy paused for a short time before he added, "We'll get his help for the next one."

"Deal." Dean smiled. He looked forward to working with his little brother and their dad in the years to come. 

It was the family business, after all.


End file.
